


Ice Runs Through My Veins

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Crack Pairing, F/M, Ice Queen, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not nearly as careful as he thinks he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Runs Through My Veins

He’s not nearly as careful as he thinks he is. This is something Sansa had realized early on, though whether or not this weakness was visible to others she really couldn’t say. That she could notice it at all simultaneously bothered her and gave her some preserve gratification; she worried that there were cracks of her own that she was blind to, and relished the fact that she could hold this over him.

She didn’t wish to bring him down just yet (if she ever did). She couldn’t yet say what would happen to her if she did, and as shameful as it was she would miss his smiles of encouragement and pride. (Even more shameful still, she would miss that slight pull, the strange attraction that brought her sleepless nights; the same attraction that made her want those smiles of pride for herself).

But the idea of having something to chastise him about only increased her sense of pleasure. She had no idea how he might react, and that excited her more than she thought possible.

She had put the pieces together a few days ago. The widow Dustin has been with them for some months, a bitter husk of a woman that Sansa simultaneously pitied, feared, and admired. She could certainly see how Petyr could be drawn to that, even as he told her to be wary. She had become good at noticing wounds, both fresh and old; she could see well how cracked they both were, and their struggles to hide it. 

She understood, but that didn’t mean she liked it.

She told herself that it wasn’t jealously that caused her distaste, when Petyr would send her off to bed and the Lady Dustin would watch her go with cold eyes. And that was true, or at least partially so. Petyr still included her in her confidence, but she increasingly felt that was stretched. Sansa had come to miss, as bizarre as it was, feeling as though his schemes were secrets shared only with her (that his eyes lingered only on her). But she would listen to him talk and, knowing he would share it all with Barbrey later (probably as she gave him the marks on his neck that Sansa would frown at), she knew it was careless. It was stupidity brought on by lust and gods only know what else. She knew it would break soon, under its own power, but still felt the need to correct it as soon as possible.

—-

Petyr asks her to walk with him out in the gardens on a dreary, bracingly cold afternoon. Winter had descended in full-force on the Vale, bringing with it harsh snows but at the moment they are in a lull, with the ground piled high and the skies a dark grey, everything still. She accepts his offer, glad to be outside, glad to have his ear.

She takes his arm, grateful for the warmth of his body even through her wool and furs, inhaling the clean air of winter. It’s interesting how it took her coming to the Vale to realize she was truly a child of winter.

“Something troubling you?” he asks, and she worries what exactly gave it away. Perhaps he will always be able to read her, no matter how well she guards herself.

She smiles, practiced. “Nothing at all.”

He’s silent for some time after, looking ahead; she watches him out of the corner of her eye. There is a bruise fading just under his jaw, she can see that now. She wonders if he ever bothers to cover them or if he wants her to know.

“I quite like Lady Dustin,” she says, her voice breaking the silence. Petyr scoffs and doesn’t meet her eyes.

“She’s a dangerous woman,” he says, and she can tell he hopes that will end the conversation

“Is she really?” Sansa asks, keeping her voice light. “I fail to see what she could do to me.”

Petyr stops walking then, faces her. She studies his eyes carefully, just as she knows he’s studying hers. “I would stay away from her, if I were you.”

She smiles again, she’s afraid she can’t help herself. “And will you do the same?”

He is silent for a long moment but then his mouth turns up in a grin (she can’t tell if it’s real or false, which leads her to believe it’s some combination). “Clever girl. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you really?” she reaches out with one gloved hand and touches the bruise—not hard, but he flinches anyway.

“It’s careless,” she mutters. “I’m afraid I can’t abide it.”

She goes to kiss his cheek but turns away before she lets her lips brush.

—-

At dinner, she tries not to smile under Lady Dustin’s stares.


End file.
